A rejection of the demand would have been infinitely wiser and better than this paltry compromise.

The postillion would have fought it: he would not have despised his fare.
How much it cost the poor pretender to reply, 'It 's the last farthing I have, my man,' the postillion could not know.
'A scabby sixpence ?' The postillion continued his question.
'You heard what I said,' Evan remarked.
The postillion drew another deep breath, and holding out the coin at arm's length: 'Well, sir!' he observed, as one whom mental conflict has brought to the philosophy of the case, 'now, was we to change places, I couldn't a' done it! I couldn't a' done it!' he reiterated, pausing emphatically.
'Take it, sir!' he magnanimously resumed; 'take it! You rides when you can, and you walks when you must.

Lord forbid I should rob such a gentleman as you!' One who feels a death, is for the hour lifted above the satire of postillions.

A good genius prompted Evan to avoid the silly squabble that might have ensued and made him ridiculous.

He took the money, quietly saying, 'Thank you.' Not to lose his vantage, the postillion, though a little staggered by the move, rejoined: 'Don't mention it.' Evan then said: 'Good night, my man.